Circle Round to You
by BiblioBabe
Summary: Harm and Mac's lives are not the same after the events in Paraguay (duh). Takes into account the current worldwide political situation.
1. Default Chapter

**Circle Round to You**

FanFic by BiblioBabe

**Disclaimer:  **JAG, its characters and plotlines are all property of David Bellisario, CBS, Bellisarius Productions, and Paramount Pictures.  This will result in no monetary or otherwise tangible gain.  "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

**Authors Note:**  My take on what could happen this coming season, or, more accurately, if this was real life and not a forty-four minute segment once a week.  Unfortunately, I think that this will be the last season of JAG, so this plotline wouldn't fly—it'll take more than one "TV season" to get this story resolved.  But, I think it's pretty good.  

BTW, has anyone else seen the previews for the season opener?  They show Mac wearing a towel.  After the Manetti incident, that was expected.  My take on that is that Mac is in her hotel room, or house, or wherever (I didn't catch the background, but it was definitely Mac in a towel, I think with a gun in her hand) when the doorbell rings.  She grabs her sidearm and goes to the door, only to find . . . Harm on the other side.  He is rendered speechless as he sees a fantasy in the flesh . . . with a twist.  The object of his fantasy, holding a gun pointed directly at him.  Wanna bet?  Any thoughts on my predictions would be interesting.

And, of course, I'm still in love with Sturgis (not the best body in the office, but such a wonderful guy!).  Any thoughts on that would be interesting, as well.

Constructive criticism always welcomed.  No flames, please.

Enjoy!

**Prologue.******

"Harm, please tell me you didn't!"

"Mac, you understand—please understand—I had to!"

"Not for me, Harm."

The thought that echoed through two minds was "What Now?"

*Short, I know.  Read on!*


	2. Reminisces at Langley

**1630 Hours**

**CIA Headquarters**

**Langley****, ****Virginia******

            Harm sighed as he remembered that fateful day last spring—the day that had turned his life around.  After he told her that he had given up his commission to come find her, she had been . . . different.  Reserved.  Less willing to talk to him, tell him what she was thinking.  She had looked at him, though.  A lot.  The look on her face was not something Harm had enjoyed.  Fear.  No, he thought for the hundredth time.  Not fear, terror.  Sheer terror.  He hadn't understood it at first—really didn't get it.  Gunny had explained it to him.  She was seeing Mic in him.  _Mic__._  He was the only man willing to give up everything he held dear for her—at least, the only man until Harm had dropped everything to save her.  He could understand that.  She was scared that he would . . . what?  Ask her to marry him?  Use it as emotional leverage?  He didn't know.  All he knew was that he loved her.  He had loved her enough to follow her, and then . . . nothing.  The admiral had asked him, before he left, what he was going to do when he found her.  He hadn't gone in with an answer, and he hadn't come back with one.

            He hadn't seen her in almost two months.  He thought back to when, exactly, it was.  He had gone over to Bud and Harriet's to drop off a file from one of his last cases at JAG for Bud to look over and, eventually, deposit in the JAG archives.  Mac had been babysitting little AJ; Bud and Harriet were at Lamaze classes.  Why they needed Lamaze classes was beyond Harm—they'd gone through two births already.  He felt the small twisting in the pit of his stomach when he thought of Baby Sarah, so small, so helpless.  Similar to the feeling he got when he thought of "his" Sarah.  She wasn't surprised to see him.  Well, she wasn't surprised from what he could tell—but then, she wore such a mask those days he couldn't read anything her in her face—not a pleasant experience.  She had just accepted the file and sent him away.  Hadn't invited him in for coffee, hadn't told little AJ that "Uncle Harm" was here, just accepted the file and went back inside. 

            Oh, they'd played phone tag a time or two, but never connected.  Harm wondered if she really wasn't home that much, and where she was if she wasn't home.  He hoped that she was at work, or maybe visiting Porter Webb.  He knew that he didn't want her to be out with other men.  Selfish of him, he knew, but there it was.  Gone were the days of her stopping by his house to discuss a case, or vice versa.  Of course, that was because they didn't have any cases together anymore.  He was at the CIA after taking the Director up on his offer, and he was working quite a bit with Catherine Gale, learning the ropes.  Catherine was nice enough, but she wasn't Mac.

            Harm couldn't think of Catherine without thinking of his "marriage" to her.  Mac had found it mildly amusing, and was not surprised to hear that Catherine was still blond.  He remembered her wry smile as she murmured that "It figures."  Of course, that had been before he told her that he had resigned . . . .

            Catherine's mother had died while he was in Paraguay.  He felt awful that he couldn't go to the funeral, but she had understood.  Hell, she had told him point blank not to feel bad, that she really didn't need him at the funeral.  She had told her mother that he had been called away on a case.  She believed her.

             That day Catherine had walked into Mac's hospital room in Bethesda was surreal.  It seemed to be the mirror image of him walking into Mrs. Gale's room at St. John's.  Harm had been dragged into that hospital room, while Catherine had forced her way into Mac's.  Harm was in Mrs. Gale's room under false pretences, while Catherine, well, had made no beans about her reasons of being there.


	3. The Flashback and the Phone Call

*Harm's Flashback*

Mac's Hospital Room

Four days after their return from Paraguay

            It had been four days since Harm, Mac, Clay, and Gunny had returned from Paraguay.  

            Three days since Harm and Gunny were given clean bills of health and released.

Two days since Clay had died from "injuries sustained while in the field."

            One day since Mrs. Webb had come, wanting to hear about the end of her son's life.

            Mac was reclining in her hospital bed, grateful that she was alone—well, almost.  Harm hadn't left her side for any significant period of time since he was released from the doctor's observation.  Mac suspected that the only reason that he had been released was that the doctors knew he wouldn't be leaving her room anyway.  Thankfully, though, he shut up when she asked him to.  

            "Hey Mac, penny for your thoughts," Harm said, in an attempt to draw her out of the shell she'd been cultivating since he'd told her about his resignation.

            "I was just thinking about . . ." she had said, when there was a knock on the door, saving her from answering the question.  "Enter," Mac called.

            Much to Mac's dismay, Catherine Gale poked her head in.  "Hey Harm, Mac.  How are you two doing?"

            "Fine, thank you," Mac said stiffly.  Harm sighed mentally.  He would probably be working with Catherine soon; he had talked to the Director about joining the CIA legal team.  The last thing he needed was Mac and Catherine involved in a cat fight.  He'd experienced the same tension between girlfriends and Mac; now Mac had the potential to become the girlfriend, leaving Catherine to be the annoyed and annoying co-worker.  Little did he know that that would soon be the least of his worries . . . .

            "Hey Harm, would you mind getting me a cup of coffee?" Catherine asked.  

            Harm looked at the grande Starbucks cup in her hand.  "Um, Miss Gale?  You have coffee."

            He should have been ready for it.  He got comparisons to Lt. Kaffey in A Few Good Men all the time—that is, when people didn't latch onto his wings and think of Top Gun.  He and Sturgis had discussed the similarity of the JAG in the film to Admiral Chegwidden.  Why wasn't he ready for her next comment?  

            "Mr. Rabb, why don't you leave the room so the Colonel and I can talk about you behind your back?"

            Mac had been rendered speechless, unable to tell her to get the hell out, as Harm had no doubt she wanted to do.  He would have, but he was totally shocked.  He dumbly turned around and walked out.  He knew that he was lucky that Mac's look hadn't bored into the back of his skull and fried his brain.  "This is your brain; this is your brain fried by a Marine's death stare."  That would have his epitaph.    

            He didn't know what they had talked about.  Mac refused to tell him, and as soon as Harriet arrived, she asked him to leave and not come back until the next day.  He had a hunch that whatever Catherine and Mac had talked about was now being analyzed by Harriet and Mac, and he knew that it would be a miracle if he ever found out.  

            The phone ringing brought him out of the daydream and back to reality.  "Rabb.  Hello, Admiral! . . .  Ummm, yes, sir, I, um, do. . . . Really, sir? . . . YES, SIR! . . . Really, sir? . . . Not a problem! . . . Friday, 0800 . . . No, sir, I won't be late . . . Yes, sir . . . Thank you, sir! . . . Thank the SecNav for me too, sir! . . . Not to look a gift horse in the teeth, sir, but . . . personnel problems? . . . oh, staffing changes . . . BuPers . . . technical stuff, okay, I understand . . . no, not really, but . . .Does, uh, the Colonel know? . . . Oh, it the chief of staff would know, wouldn't she? . . . Yes, Sir!  Thank you, Sir!  Goodbye, Sir!"

            People walking by the door of Harm's office would have been surprised to see Harm doing a victory dance, and even more surprised to hear the song that accompanied it.

"I'm going back to JA-AG!  I'm going back to JA-AG!  WOO-HOO!  HOO-RAH!"  A sudden thought struck Harm:  "I've gotta call Mac!"

COMING UP NEXT:  THE BOMB IS DROPPED.  THE PACE PICKS UP PRETTY QUICKLY FROM HERE ON OUT, FOLKS.  PLEASE FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS!  


	4. The Bomb is Dropped

*Sorry this has been a little slow.  It won't be anymore, promise!*

1930 Hours

Mac's Apartment

Georgetown

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

            "Mac, I know you're in there!  It's Harm, please let me in!  Come on, Mac!  Please!"

            Mac swore under her breath and walked to the front door.  She knew why Harm was there—the Admiral had offered him his place back at JAG.  What he didn't know was why he would be returning and whose place he would be taking.  It was up to her to tell him—tonight.  It wouldn't be fair to talk about his return tonight, and then drop the news on him along with the rest of the staff tomorrow.  No, she had to tell him herself.  'Suck it up, Marine' she told herself, then took a deep breath and opened the door.

            Harm fairly bounced in.  "Guess what, Mac?  Well, you already know, but guess what?  I get to come back to JAG!"

            Mac smiled softly at him.  "I know, flyboy, I'm the chief of staff, remember?  I had to sign off on it, too."

            Harm's heart sang.  She had called him 'flyboy'!  She hadn't done that in ages!  He looked at her and her soft smile.  Her soft . . . sad . . . smile.  He froze; something was wrong with her, or JAG, or his coming back to JAG.  What was it?

            "Mac, what is it?"

            She heaved a mental sigh.  She knew he would cut to the chase before long—it was one of the things that she loved about him, and that drove her crazy.  "Come on in, Harm, do you want some coffee, or tea?"

            "Tea sounds great.  Mac, what is it?  There's something funky going on, and I want to know what it is!"

            "I'm sure you do, Harm.  Take a deep breath before you hyperventilate, and you can follow me into the kitchen while I make the tea."

            She walked to the kitchen, her satin robe swishing.  She put water on to boil, got down two mugs and the teabags, and turned back to Harm.

"Harm, how much did you deal with staff changes and shifts while you were chief of staff?"

"Not much, Mac.  I signed off on bringing Bud in, which was a plus, and I signed off on our partnership with the exchange program, which, from my point of view, anyway, was a minus."

"Well, Harm, since 9/11 I have been doing more work with the greater personnel issues.  I've had to meet with BuPers and I've worked on reassigning and shifting some JAG personnel around HQ, JAGPAC, and the European bases.  I had to sign off on Bud's transfer—a fact that makes me sick, but that's part of the job—but I even found the new JAG for ops at Gitmo.  Well, the one area I haven't been working with BuPers is the Middle Eastern theatre.  I do, however, know the JAG with the Marines in Iraq—he's a good lawyer—he was two years ahead of me at Georgetown."

"Mac, what are you saying?"

"Well, Col. Browning—the JAG in Iraq—a full colonel, by the way—is good.  Really good.  He was in the UN liason office when I was in Bosnia.  He knows his way around the international scene.  It makes sense, then, to have him where there will be the most international troops.  At this point, that would be in Liberia—that is a U.N. cause.  To make him even more valuable there, he was actually born in South Africa—his parents fled after his father was too vocal about criticizing the apartheid regime.  So, BuPers, with my advice, has transferred Col. Martin Browning to the Liberian theatre."

"And?"

"And, that leaves the JAG position in Iraq open."

"Open for _whom_, Mac?"

"Harm, one of the things I've learned from my dealings with BuPers is that JAG is severely below standard in the range of O-4's to O-6's—Lt. Commander / Major to Captain (j.g.) / Colonel.  Frankly, Harm, the SecNav didn't want to bring you back—something about raising his blood pressure, but all the others in that range were needed elsewhere, and those who can be spared, can be spared because they just don't have the skills or the time in rank or office.  Sturgis, for example, doesn't meet the quals for chief of staff because he simply hasn't been in the JAG system long enough.  He joined the sub service at a bad time—he was pushed out because they didn't need people of his rank, so he had to find something else to do.  He came to JAG later, so he won't be able rise very far in that station, either.  That pretty much sucks for him, but he's not the only one in that position.  There are hundreds of officers in positions similar to his, and a quite a few in JAG.  They make the best station chiefs and JAGmen to other offices, but they don't become the JAG, and they don't go into overtly volatile situations, such as Iraq or Liberia.  In addition, most of the officers in JAG are Navy, not Marines, who are the first in and the last out.  They won't send in a Navy officer when they can send in a Marine."

"So you're saying that the JAG officer BuPers is sending to Iraq is . . ."

"Me, Harm."

To Be Continued . . .


End file.
